Steam Heat by Elizabeth Darvill Page A

that Grand Central Station has become. If I am lucky, I can pick up a quick energy boost from some willing and ready dandy, who doesn’t mind a quick romp with a girl with black eyes.
    Given the fact that every other being you run into lately is a monster or creature of some sort, I don’t stand out that much. There was a time I was an oddity; not now. Not since the paranormal creatures have come out of hiding and we coexist. The world has shifted from one of proper dignity to one containing a variety of vagabonds and scoundrels. It has only gotten worse as the crystal that purifies the air is dying and the end is near. The chaos swirling through everyone benefits my lifestyle, so I have few complaints about the way things are working out.
    I shrug out of my jacket, pull off the tattered camisole and toss it casually to the side. Yesterday, I was the assassin, today I am the vixen. As I dig through the contents of my leather satchel, I locate a smooth band of rich brown leather with a variety of straps and buckles attached to it. I force the ridged leather over my head and inch it down slowly until it barely covers my breasts. Satisfied they are not going anywhere, I slide my pistol into the holster pouch hanging off the side of my chest harness. Almost dislocating my shoulders, I lace myself tightly into a black corset that rests just under my breasts and pushes them up to lovely heights. Perfect for distracting the male population. In this day and age you need to use whatever you’ve got. Being half succubus, what I’ve got is sex appeal.
    The smooth, silky fabric of my vibrant green skirt glides up my legs seductively, reminding me that just moments ago I had what would have been a mind-shattering orgasm interrupted. I fasten the waistband of my skirt. It sports a full bustle in the back, but very little cloth in the front. With a flick of my wrist I wind my thick hair up and shove a hatpin through the whole mess to hold it in place. Taking another peek at the time, I hastily roll on some black stockings and shove my feet into sturdy leather boots.
    I sling my satchel over my shoulder and fasten a leather belt around my hips before shoving another pistol in each side. As I begin walking to the battered metal door of my underground hideout, a pain rips through my chest. My knees buckle and I am falling towards the floor, I can’t seem to catch my breath. Shit, what if I am too late after all? Flames of agony lick through my chest, consuming the half of a soul I possess. It has never been this bad before. A coughing fit seizes me—hard enough to produce a mouthful of blood. Fuck me.

 

    Chapter Two
     
    My head lolls back against the rough upholstery of my seat. I am aboard one of the speed steamers that roam the landscape of America. They shuttle all manner of criminals, missionaries, the few remaining aristocrats and fortune seekers from the wilderness to the city and back again. I paid my price and got my fix. Even with the high of energy flowing through me after my sexual encounter with the steamer’s owner, I can feel the ache as what little soul I have left rapidly deteriorates.
    At least I got the information I required. I am now speeding into the Catskill Mountains and towards the other half of my soul. I hope to hell he is suffering as much as I am. I have never met him in real life, but we have shared some hot, nasty sexual encounters in linked dreams. The more we need each other, the more realistic and intoxicating the dreams become.
    As I kick my boots up on the empty seat across from me, I massage my temples to try to ease the throbbing. I have no idea what I am going to say to Ian when I see him. I don’t even know if he is aware of his heritage. All I could gather is he is in an apprenticeship with Nikola Tesla, in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains. They are attempting to find a way to repower the crystal that purifies our air.
    About the time the paranormal creatures began to appear, the air